


I Hear 'Em Callin' For You

by gearyoak



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 1800's AU, Age Difference, Deadlock Gang, Excessive Drinking, Gangs, M/M, Racist Language, Slow Build, Swearing, a lot of OCs - Freeform, i.e. I'm lazy, tags will be added as the story progresses, there's some killin', werewolf mccree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7845883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearyoak/pseuds/gearyoak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had known - even prior to their arrival -  that staking a claim on the bloodstained country of America would be no simple feat, but the Shimadas were not easily deterred. The plan was to expand an empire, to take control. As it went, the Deadlocks were only a pawn, the piece the Shimadas were to move first. With that movement would come the spark that set the world aflame.</p>
<p>And then there was Jesse McCree, and the trouble he caused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Open Arms; Rough and Steady Start

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck.
> 
> I've been working on this shit for like three weeks and it's killing me. I haven't written in a long time, so if there are any mistakes tell me. I don't have a beta, so they're all my own. I'll cry about it in secret and then fix them. I wrote this sporadically and edited it the same way. If there are parts that seem disjointed and just, y'know, wrong, let me know! 
> 
> Anyway, this fic is set in 1886 - 1889-ish, years after the Civil War in Santa Fe, New Mexico with Werewolf McCree because I saw a ton of it in the mchanzo tag, but my shit is mcgenji. So I did the thing.
> 
> Also, in this fic, Genji is 22 while McCree is around 33 - 35. I tagged it just in case that wasn't someone's cup of tea but I'm also putting it here just in case it was overlooked once more tags are added.
> 
> Another thing, I suck at literally everything.
> 
> Title from One Direction's 'Wolves' because I'm a tool.

_Jesse had been excited to go up north. Ever since he was a boy he had wanted to see the factories full of machines, see cities with buildings taller than the trees behind the family farm. He had finished packing the essentials days before – making sure the rucksacks would take up as little room as possible in the wagon – and was enthusiastic in helping the rest of the farmhands prepare for the ride. In his father’s eyes, he might have been a little too excited. Jesse had seen nothing passed New Mexico’s fields and farms; he had never experienced a trip as grueling as this one would be. The road north was a long one, and even more dangerous than it had been in the past. The war had left both halves of the country demolished in more ways than one. In fact, he would not have even thought to bring Jesse with him on this journey if they had not been so short-staffed on the farm. It would take every stallion and farmhand to move their cattle, and his son was one of the best wranglers on that side of the trail._

_Jesse understood where he had been coming from, though; even twenty years of healing could not repair the damage the US had suffered from their internal conflict. He was only seventeen, however – born just out of the reach of war and the stories his father told him when he was a boy served only as bedtime tales. Out there, with nothing but hills ahead of them, stars above them, and cows between them, Jesse couldn’t even begin to fathom what his father was worrying about._

_The horse whickered below him when he knicked his spurs into her side, urging her forward at a trot. On his left, hollering could be heard above the herd’s occasional yell and trampling hooves. A dog ran passed him, nipping at the ankles of a stray heifer, and then dashed off again toward the back of the herd where Jesse spotted his father. Randall McCree stood motionless on his grey stallion over yonder, just a silhouette against the night sky except for the burning ember of his home-rolled cigar under his hat._

 *~

               

“ _You could_ pretend _to pay attention, brother_.”

Genji looked away from the men across the road and at Hanzo next to him. If he had not spoken in their native language, Genji probably would not have even noticed he said anything at all. All words that had been spoken since they arrived were in English; Americans were wary of things they didn’t understand. He did not even think about hiding his disinterest in the conversation being had between his father, uncle and the inn’s owner – not that the English was hard to follow. Their clan did business with many kinds of people from many different countries, so Genji’s uncle had found excellent linguists to assure that the Shimada sons were fluent in as many languages as possible. So, no, Genji could understand them, it was just that watching men tend to their horses had definitely been more interesting than hearing about rooms and beds.

He did not tell Hanzo that. Instead, he replied in their mother tongue with, “ _And who would I be fooling, brother? Certainly not_ them.”

Despite himself, Hanzo allowed the smallest of smirks to cross his features. “ _You should not speak so lowly of them. They are being very generous to us._ ”

Genji barely held back a snort. “ _They are afraid of us_ ,” he responded. It was true; the owner could hardly maintain eye contact with their father and his voice was slightly warbled when something was said a little too forceful.

“ _Perhaps they have heard stories_ ,” Hanzo muttered, sounding smug. His expression hardened back to what Genji recognized as his business face when he caught the eye of the co-owner.

If tales of their clan had reached the Americas, then this man was smart to be afraid. Kenshin Shimada had built an empire back in Japan and he did not do it by being a kind man. Genji thought it impressive of his father that he could bestow that much fear in people upon their first meeting. Only five of Kenshin’s men had accompanied them across the Pacific, but one would think that he had an army at his back with the way these Americans looked at them.

They were quick to leave once they showed the Shimadas inside. The inn itself had only three floors; the first being what looked to be a common area for the patrons. Dining tables were set up on the far side of the room, and a bar lined the back wall opposite to the stairs. Genji had learned many things about the Americas from his stay already. One of these things was that there was a bar – or a saloon, as the natives called it – located nearby no matter where he was in the city.

A group of men were already sat in the stools at the bar, each dressed in leather and poorly tailored tunics. Their voices hushed when the bell hung above the door tingled, but only one of them looked up to see the newcomers. The man’s face was weathered and tanned brown from long days spent in the sun, and his skin pulled tight across his cheeks when he smiled at Genji’s father.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “’S about time, ain’t it?” He was familiar, Genji realized. Not the man himself, but the air about him. He had seen men like this before, seen his father rule over men like him. He knew what this was now, why this inn was chosen in particular.

Kenshin moved toward them, a smile of his own spreading along his features. Now that his back was to him, Genji decided he had had enough clan business for one day. As silently as he could, he made his way toward the stairs with the thought of exploring more of the building – then more of the city now that his father was busy.

However, his Uncle Jirou always had an eye for when his youngest nephew were to try and make his escape. “Here, boy,” he said before Genji could even get his foot on the first step. “At least be useful and take some of these with you.” Jirou gestured vaguely at some of the luggage their men were still carrying in from their wagon.

Genji barely refrained from making a face at his uncle. Not that he would have seen it; he had turned back to the others like Genji had already left. Therefore, he grabbed the smallest bag – which had just happened to be his own – and made his way up the stairs to the second floor. The landing brought him to a short hallway filled with doors, each one closed with numbers painted on their face. He found that the third floor was much of the same, except for the archway at the end of the hall. It led to a sort of balcony that overlooked a good chunk of the city below. It was a nice view, Genji decided as he walked closer to the railing. The wooden panels beneath his feet creaked and groaned despite how practiced his steps were, but it seemed sturdy enough. The top floor must have been for the wealthier people, if it was the only floor that offered a deck such as this. It was obviously meant to be enjoyed by someone, as it was furnished with three rocking chairs and plants potted in ceramic.

Tossing his rucksack onto one of the chairs, Genji braced himself on the railing and lifted himself up onto it with ease. He sidled across until he reached the support beam to the awning and used that to swing up and onto the roof of the inn. He settled into a crouch and breathed in, eyes searching the miles of plains and fields passed the city. Even from all the way up there, he could still smell the stench of civilization.

He found he did not mind too much.

 

*~

 

When he returned to the main floor of the inn, more of the sun-kissed men had arrived. They were spread across the dining tables, the bar having been filled. Genji quickly spotted his father at the far end of the room. Hanzo and his uncle were still at his sides, along with the man from before. Their table was empty aside from themselves, and it was the only one with food laid across it. The sun man was the only one eating, however. It was not odd behavior for his father; he did not trust others very often.

“You mus’ be the youngin’,” a voice down to his right said. It belonged to the boy sitting at the table closest to Genji, who – in his opinion – had little to no right to be calling him a “youngin’”.

Even so, Genji offered him a kind grin. “I must be.”

The three other men that had been sitting with the boy watched on in silent curiosity as he continued. “Yer pa said there was two o’ ya, so I was wonderin’. Didn’t get ya name, though.”

He waited a beat, mentally debating on whether or not he wanted to get into this. Back home, Genji made it a point to make as little contact as possible with the men Kenshin worked with. He had decided long ago that he did not want to be a part of this side of the family.

“I am Genji.”

“Genji,” the boy repeated, testing it out for himself. “So the other one mus’ be Hanzo.” He pronounced the name with a hard ‘a’. Genji did not correct him, just nodded. “Well, Genji, we got room fer one more. Reckon you ain’t interested in big men talk.” Once he took the seat next to him, the boy held out his hand to Genji. “Name’s Johnny Good.”

As Genji took his hand in an awkward shake, one of the older men barked a laugh. “Naw, that ain’t yer name – tell’m yer real name, now.”

“It is my real name,” Johnny Good said, voice weary like he had had this conversation many times before. “He ain’t gotta know what you folks – “

“His name is Bull,” another man said. His accent was different from the others’ drawl.

“It ain’t!”

“Because he can’t let a stranger be, runs up to ‘em like a bull in a rodeo.”

“Dumb as one, too,” the first man added.

“Y’all don’t know shit,” Bull mumbled, but Genji could see the smile he was trying to smother. Americans certainly were strange. “Makin’ me look like a right fool in front o’ my new friend.”

“He ain’t your friend, kid,” he told him. “Any creature wit’ half a brain would meet ya at breakfast an’ get sick o’ ya ‘fore noon.” Then, to Genji, he said, “Pardner, you shoulda never sat down. He ain’t ever gon’ leave you ‘lone now.”

At first, Genji could only blink, as he was already content on watching these people interact with each other until he was spoken to directly. For a lack of something better to say, he asked, “What do they call you?”

“Shithead, mostly,” the man replied easily. “But my ma named me David. Called me Dave, which I like better, I reckon.” He did not offer Genji his hand, but instead gestured toward the second man. “That’s Emilio. Can’t understand a word he says sometimes, but he’s the best shot in Santa Fe. ‘S why we keep ‘im around.”

Emilio scoffed, muttering in a language Genji had heard plenty of times as they traveled.

“That ain’t true,” Bull muttered.

“Shut up.”

“It ain’t!”

“How you likin’ it so far?” Dave questioned, ultimately ending whatever conversation Bull attempted to have before it could start. “Prolly ain’t seen a lot of the town, eh?”

“No,” Genji agreed. “We had only just arrived.”

“We could show you around,” Bull assured him, as if Genji had expressed concern about getting lost. “Well, s’pose I could.” He shared a look with the other two men. “Reckon you guy’s got work to do.”

Emilio raised a brow. “Why the secrecy boy?”

“I know,” Dave guffawed. “You realize this kid is the son of our boss’ new boss, right? He knows what we’re about.”

Bull looked to Genji for confirmation, but he only shrugged.

“Make sure you show him the _bodega_ by Fox Well,” Emilio told Bull in way of dismissal. “Best Tanglefoot in town,” he murmured to Dave, who hummed in agreement.

 

*~

 

The sun was an hour or two away from setting, but the air was hotter than ever. Genji was glad for the awnings on nearly every other building as he waited for Bull to settle up the horses out front. They were not for their use, but when Bull was spotted leaving the inn, one of his fellow men had stopped him so he could give the boy two buckets and a brush. Bull had accepted the job simply enough, rambling along as he worked and never checked to see if Genji was still listening. He was not, there was no doubt about it, but even if Bull knew, Genji was almost certain he would not have minded. He had only known this boy for a short time but he was already quite fond of him, which was why he had not already left to explore on his own. At least this way his brother would not scold him as severely as he would have when he returned for the night. Hanzo hated when Genji left on his own, said his independence would get him killed.

As he waited, he took to people watching. For the most part, everyone stood under the shade as he did to avoid the sun. Some led mules with goods packed on their backs up and down the road in between shops. Women strolled in groups of two or three with children weaving through their legs at every turn. Despite the noise from the shrieking children, the hushed murmuring of the men and women, and Bull’s constant talk, it was calm.

Genji smiled to himself. He really could see himself enjoying the Americas.

An uneasy feeling fell over him suddenly, and the smile was wiped from his face. His right arm twitched, wanting to reach for the _ōdachi_ on his back. Instead of unsheathing his blade and causing a scene, he forced himself to remain calm and scan the road again. The man was already staring at Genji when he looked to his end of the street; his hat casted a shadow over his features, but Genji _knew_ he was watching him. He had been leaning against the wall of a store, his arms folded over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles, the spur on one of his boots spinning as he tapped his heel into the wooden porch. Genji stared back, mostly in shock.

Rather than look away once he had been caught, the man actually grinned at him and raised a gloved hand to tip his hat. He could not hear the laugh that followed when Genji practically jerked back in surprise, but it still caused his face to heat up in embarrassment. He watched with a scowl as the man pushed off the wall he had been leaning on and open the doors to the shop, disappearing inside.

“What’chya lookin’ at?”

Right. Bull. He had not noticed that the boy had even finished talking. He composed himself after glaring at the spot the man had been one last time. “Someone was staring at me.”

Bull sniggered and gave him a once over. “Yeah, well, I would too, pardner. You folks sure do have a strange way of dressin’.”

 

*~

 

Hanzo still scolded him when he returned later that night, albeit quieter than usual because of the hour. He started on Genji when he crawled up and over the railing to the third floor balcony and no later, arms crossed and expression disappointed.

“You would think,” he started in English, eyes narrowed at his little brother, “that you would be less reckless, as this land is unknown and therefore dangerous. Perhaps you would take a little more precaution.”

Genji smiled, knowing it would infuriate the other. “You might see danger, brother. All I see are cow herders.”

“A needle can serve as a blade if handled so,” Hanzo huffed. “And what were to happen if you lost your way?”

“You see that did not happen.”

“If it did?”

“Bull knows this city better than most,” Genji informed with a shrug.

Hanzo’s brow furrowed in a type of angry confusion. “Bull? What is Bull?”

“Bull is the young man I met this afternoon while you and father were busy.” Genji moved passed him to fall into one of the balcony’s rocking chairs, not having sat down since they had left the inn. “His real name is Johnny Good, but the others refer to him as Bull.” He paused for a moment in thought, then returned his gaze back to his brother. “Do you know what a rodeo is?”

Hanzo looked like he had a thousand questions of his own, but disregarded all of them to say, “You must be careful around these people, Genji. They appear friendly, but only because they know what we are. You should not trust them.”

The youngest Shimada nodded. “I do not trust them; you need not worry about that.”

Finally, Hanzo’s expression softened. “If I do not worry, who will? Certainly not you, and father is busy with the Deadlocks – “

“And Jirou hates me, you can say it.”

“I will not say it because it is not true,” Hanzo snapped. This was a conversation – an argument –  they had plenty of times before, and the older had grown weary of it after the first instance. “Uncle just wishes you would take this family seriously. You are very talented, Genji. Jirou recognizes you potential.”

Genji sighed. Now that he was sitting, the soreness in his muscles had set in from the trip, and his thoughts were tired. He wanted to go to bed. “I wish he would recognize that his life is not the one I want. Father did.”

Hanzo was quiet for a moment, looking out at the skyline. Genji waited patiently for his rebuttal, but all he received was, “Get some sleep, brother. It has been a long day.”

 

*~

 

When Bull was free of his grunt work, they often frequented the High Side saloon. They sometimes met up with several other men Genji had seen lounging around the inn, but Dave and Emilio were constants. It was the Spanish man’s favorite place to be, Genji learned quickly. He called it a _bodega_ and only ordered one type of drink, something called a Tanglefoot. The rest of them drank whatever was in the kegs that sat out on spare chairs. It was warm and sour, but Dave told him it was the only beer around that did not taste _just_ like piss straight from a horse.

“You’re pretty alright, y’know that?” Dave asked Genji, already a few mugs of the drink passed the other three. He reached over Emilio – who hissed out a few swears when it made him knock into his own cup – to clap a hand against Genji’s back. “Thought you were gonna be some sort’a brown-noser, y’know?”

Emilio turned his body so his back was to Dave and gave Genji an exaggerated eye roll. He grinned back until he caught Dave staring, like he was waiting for an answer. “What is a brown-noser?”

“An ass kisser,” Bull exclaimed, the first thing he had said in nearly ten minutes, which Genji was glad for. He did not much care for Bull being silent. “Means you thought – “ A pause, a brow furrowed. “Means he thought you’s gonna suck up t’us, geddit?”

“Not to us _particularly_ ,” Dave interjected, raising his hand to stop Bull from saying anymore. “Jus’, like, I don’t know.”

“Sure didn’t think you’d come out with us like this,” Emilio said. He didn’t talk much, mostly mumbled in his mother tongue and secretly rolled his eyes at whatever Dave was ranting about. Genji liked him. “Thought you’d be private, like the rest of your family.”

“Yeah, why don’t your brother talk to us?” Bull asked, leaning forward on the bar so he could see the other two.

“What’s another word for rich folk?” Dave asked the bartender as he poured him a refill.

“Hanzo is,” Genji hesitated, thinking about the way his brother’s nostrils would flare in annoyance if he could hear some of the words that went through his mind. “Reserved,” was what he finally decided on. “His time is spent on my father and his work.”

Emilio shook his head, like it was a shame.

“How come you got time, then? S’your dad, too.”

Genji shrugged, “I have no interest. It is Hanzo’s legacy, not mine.”

“ _Pretentious_ ,” Dave suddenly shouted, causing Bull to nearly jump out of his skin next to him.

“ _Madre de dios,_ shithead, why you screamin’?” Emilio scolded, to which Dave ignored to point at Genji accusingly.

“Thought you’d be more _pretentious_.” He grinned, threw back what was left of his drink in one, hearty swallow, and said, “Knew my ma teachin’ me my letters would come in handy.”

Emilio scoffed. “You couldn’t write yer name even if someone spelled it out for ya.”

“Bet I could.”

“Last time you bet on anything you lost your father’s watch to some Side Winder in a game of poker.”

Dave nodded solemnly at Genji in confirmation. “I did, I did do that.”

It was hard to keep the grin off of his face when he offered a, “I am sorry for your loss, David.”

The mood had shifted for the man as he slumped in his seat, staring sadly at the bottom of his mug. “Dumb bastard died before I even got to kill him for it.”

Genji would have laughed then if he did not sound so close to tears.

“What ended up bitin’ him?” Bull questioned, giving Dave a few supporting pats on the back.

“Dumb shit was a Side Winder; you know what happened to ‘em.” Emilio’s voice went hard. Bull stilled in his stool and Dave’s jaw clenched. Genji could feel the humor he had previously found in the situation distance itself. “They were hitting some bank transport on its way to Illinois. They got jumped.”

“Some trader found their bodies on the side of the road,” Dave put in. He shook his head with a shudder. “Says they was torn apart. Not a single one survived.”

“’Course not.” Emilio did not look at them, his gaze fixed on the wall before him. “ _El hombre de lobo_ never lets a man who’s seen him live.”

Bull swallowed and pushed his drink away, looking paler than he did moments before.

Now, Genji was certain he was missing something important. He looked back and forth between the three of them, waiting for someone to elaborate as he was hesitant to ask for himself. It was obviously an uncomfortable subject, but his curiosity was piqued. He allowed them one more minute of unsettled silence before finally speaking.

“Would I be disrespectful in asking what a – a lobo is?”

“ _El_ _Hombre de lobo_ ,” Emilio corrected.

“Man wolf,” Dave elaborated.

“It’s a monster,” Bull told him. “It’s been murderin’ all kinds of men – men like us.”

“’Men like us’?”

“Outlaws,” the boy said lowly. “Gangs, thieves, y’know the like. Thing’s never killed nothin’ of the locals – not even their cattle.”

“How do you know it’s a wolf if no one has seen it?”

“Ever since the attacks started, a pack of wolves showed up,” Dave replied. “Anytime the beast hits one’a the town’s crews, they howl like they’d done it ‘emselves.”

“Bodies have bite marks, too,” Bull whispered, folding his arms over his chest tightly, in a protective hug. Any thoughts of them fooling him left Genji’s mind quickly. These men were obviously affected by this story and it unsettled him in response.

“How long has it been now?” Dave asked Emilio quietly.

“Not twenty years,” the other answered, eyes still glazed and fixed on the wall ahead of him.

With a grunt, Dave took Bull’s mug and poured half of what was left into his own, and then raised it above his head. “To Jesse McCree, best shot this side of the trail.”

“To Jesse McCree,” Emilio repeated, raising his own mug. “Died too young.”

“To Jesse McCree,” Bull recited faintly.

Genji remained silent.

 


	2. Fast Happenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: it's been a while since we posted the first chapter, so I should prolly update. But this chapter is much shorter than the first and things happen a little too fast
> 
> also me: fuCk iT JUSt fUCk it m8

Hanzo was nervous and it, in turn, made Genji just as uneasy.

His brother was never stressed; he handled every situation with a unique sense of gracefulness and precision only a Shimada could. Genji cleared his throat as silently as he could and glanced over at the Sun Man. He was wearing a hat this time, and the poor lighting of the saloon made his weathered face gaunt with shadows. The presence of this man still unsettled Genji, and he knew Hanzo felt it, too. There was no possible way a simple meeting would unnerve the older Shimada son, especially having done it countless times before.

At least, he assumed Hanzo was comfortable in situations such as this. Genji always conveniently had somewhere else to be or was just not around at all. The only reason he was standing there then, behind Kenshin off to the left, was because Bull practically _begged_ it of him.

It was their ring leader Genji was there to see. Bull was excited to find out if the man’s eyes really were orange and if he had fangs instead of regular canines. He did not have either of those things. In fact, the Red Shot’s esteemed leader reminded Genji of a rat left out in the rain, and now that he was stuck there for the rest of the discussion, he found no humor in it. There was no way of escaping without being seen, either, as the entry-way to the saloon was on the far side opposite to him. Meetings like these had to go a certain way for the desired positive outcome. Men in this line of work were untrusting, and a simple action such as walking out could raise unnecessary suspicion.

Genji was left to stare longingly out the entryway and at what little he could see beyond it, listening to the hum of voices around him instead of the words themselves. When he did not pay enough attention, the sound of the English language turned into something of a song. It was strangely alluring, the different accents and dialects like pitches and notes. It almost made him forget they were discussing drug trading.

The Red Shot leader was not pleased, but he must have known better if he was still sitting across the Sun Man and Kenshin Shimada. He was intelligent to understand that this was not a fair deal. Kenshin was frugal with his clan’s earnings, and the Sun Man had already held a grudge against this gang if what Bull had said was true. They were merely becoming pawns for his father, which Genji thought was arguably better than death. The Red Shot Rat must have thought so, as well.

The building was rather crowded, so Genji was not exactly bored. Their group had stowed away in the back corner as to get as much privacy as possible and it gave him a good view of the room. The other tables were occupied with all types of workers, but the largest table was what caught Genji’s eye for the longest. The men there seemed to be locked into a very intense game of cards, a pile of coins and dice collected at the middle. Every so often, they would mumble to each other after a long moment of silence, and then a few would swear. He did not know what type of game it was and he was not interested in learning more exactly, but he enjoyed watching how these people got worked up over it.

Enough time had passed for the table to acquire entirely new players, and the youngest Shimada was now annoyed. He did not dare make a noise, but he thought about causing a scene, wondered who would hit him for it first. Most likely his brother, as he was the closest and Uncle Jirou would not get there quick enough. The look on Hanzo’s face might have been worth it, but the one on his father’s definitely would not be. A silent sigh caused his shoulders to slump a little and he fought the urge to yawn, lazily scanning the rest of the bar for something else to look at.

A familiar hat caught his attention and it was a miracle how no one noticed him perk up. He was already looking at Genji, just as last time, and Genji noticed that he had a beard. He wondered how he had missed it at first. The serape was still wrapped around his shoulders, and his cigar was pinched in between his forefinger and thumb while the other gloved hand fiddled with an empty glass. He seemed comfortable in his stool at the bar, like he had been sitting there for as long as Genji had been standing.

It was when the man smiled that Genji realized he had been staring again. This time, instead of going red in the face, he returned it with his own unabashed grin. The bustle of the bar was too loud to hear, but he thought he saw the other’s shoulders shake in a laugh. The man definitely shook his head, though. He stood from his seat, threw a few bills on the counter top, then headed for the entryway. Genji wished to follow him, only to rid himself of this exhausting meeting.

The man must have felt his eyes following him, because before he stepped out, he turned to look at him one last time. When he saw Genji still watching, he tipped his hat.

Genji rolled his eyes, biting back another smile just in case Hanzo noticed.

 

*~

 

“Not even a little?”

“I am sure I would have noticed.”

Bull’s hopeful expression turned into a pout as his shoulders dropped in disappointment. “I ain’t ever listenin’ to Dave again.”

Genji snorted. “What kind of man would have orange eyes?”

“I admit that one was a bit of a stretch,” the boy replied quickly. “But the teeth thing coulda been real.”

He shook his head with a fond smile, turning his eyes back up to the stars above them. They were the same from Japan, something familiar in this new country to comfort him. It is what he did on the nights when the inn’s bed was too peculiar and alien for Genji to bear. Tonight, though, the stars did not give the solace he sought from them. He chalked it up to the men around him. They were loud and rough in everything they did, not like Dave or Emilio. These were other friends of Bull’s and he had been kind enough to invite Genji to go out to the fields with them, so he maintained a neutral expression and outlook whenever one of them spoke.

Even still, he wished he had never accepted the offer, or maybe he would have but only if it were just with Bull himself. The trees and grass held some sort of mystical sense to them, but the noise of the others drained it and turned it eerie. Bull at least knew when to stop rambling, and if not, Genji could have gone out by himself. It was not like he had not done such a thing before, much to Hanzo’s dismay. The hollering and whooping of the Deadlocks seemed like a disrespect to the earth around them, and it did not sit right with Genji.

Fourteen men had accompanied him and Bull on this walk to the fields, each of them with a bottle or flask of homemade whiskey. A few of them had attempted conversation with Genji, but he kept it curt and short. Those who did not try to speak only stared at him, like they were wary of _him_. That worried Genji; if they were afraid, they would not be slow to start something against him. The _ōdachi_ on his back suddenly felt heavier. He did not want to fight anyone.

As the men got further into their drink, the trees began to thin until there were none left. The dirt path they were following continued forward and carved its way through the tall grass, stretching passed the horizon. It seemed endless, much like the ocean Genji crossed to get there. A collection of buildings rose up from the grass like islands in water, creating what would have been a pleasant view. The smallest building that was set apart from the others must have been a home; the windows were glowing faintly with candles from inside and a lantern was lit on the deck by the front door.

“How you likin’ the folk in the city, Shimada?” The man nudged him when he asked the question. He was the most persistent of the few who talked to Genji, and whenever he did, Bull did not look him in the eyes. Everyone called him Vander, like it was some sort of title but Genji had been sure it was his real name.

“They are kind enough,” he replied honestly. Even if it were not the case, he would not have changed his answer. Some people take a certain pride in cities if they think they own it, and he did not know where this Vander stood.

He hummed thoughtfully. “That might jus’ be because they’s scared of ya. They don’ know what to make of your kind.”

Genji’s jaw tightened, but he did not bristle at the term. “Possibly.”

“See, when you really get to know ‘em, these folk turn into somethin’ else.” His eyes were fixed on the house, the grey around the pupils growing colder as it got closer. Vander saw something in the home that Genji did not, and whatever it was brought him thoughts that were decayed and unwelcome. “I’m ‘bout to learn you somethin’, boy. You best remember tonight if you and yer folk wanna run with us.”

The men did not turn as the path did, not like Genji had expected them to anymore. Instead they began trudging through the grass, closer to the farmhouse. He wanted to stop, redirect the situation, but he could not fall out of step from Vander’s pace.

“Here’s to Genji’s pa,” Vander yelled suddenly, raising his brown bottle high in the air for a toast. The men’s eyes turned on to Vander, and then to Genji in turn.  “Fer buyin’ out the damn Shots and makin’ them our _bitches_!”

When the group burst into cheers, Genji frantically looked for Bull, but only found his own proud smile and dazed eyes. As glass shattered against the dirt and gruff shouts buzzed in his ears, Genji felt helpless.

Vander’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, urging him to walk forward again. He had to lean in close to Genji’s face in order for him to hear. His breath was sour and stale. “We’ve been meanin’ to hash somethin’ out with these folk. Figured tonight oughta be the night, celebration-wise. And since we have you with us.” He pulled back so he could address the rest of their group. “Ever since the Japs’ve got here, our luck’s been gettin’ better an’ better!”

Anger bubbled in his chest, but the bitter cold of fear overshadowed that fire in an instant when a crack snapped through the air. At first, he believed it to be a gunshot, but it was only the front door of the farmhouse swinging open and slamming against the house’s paneling. Red-faced and wild, an older man stepped out onto the porch. A shotgun was cradled in his hands, but none of the Deadlocks seemed phased. Vander even moved closer, taking the wooden, creaky steps two at a time until he was eye to eye with the farmer.

“I told you the last time you’s here that I ain’t gonna see ya on my property again.” He raised the gun, the barrel aimed for Vander’s chest. “You leave now an’ I’ll pretend I ain’t seein’ ya.”

Around him, some of the others began to pace behind Vander like hounds waiting for an order to kill. Bull stood tall next to Genji, face void of emotion. They were not afraid of this man’s threat.

Vander chuckled. “Now, now, friend. You don’t gotta act all rash. Me and my pals here were just passin’ through,” he gestured at the crowd behind him. The farmer’s eyes scanned the number of men and swallowed, but his expression remained like steel. “And I was thinkin’, ‘Oh, that’s ol’ Rodney’s farm, I wonder how he’s been doin’ since our last visit’. So, I decided to stop by an’ see.” He leaned back on the railing to the porch, making himself comfortable. “Did you think ‘bout our offer, Rodney?”

The farmer’s eye twitched. “I ain’t givin’ you hold of my farm. It’s my land, I own it.”

“See, that’s what you said last time.” Vander balanced his bottle on the railing, then used the free hand to pull a revolver from its holster. “And last time, we told you that ain’t how this is gonna be.”

When the farmer raised his shotgun higher, a chorus of metal on leather sounded as all the other men reached for their own pistols. It was the shock that pushed Genji forward, the understanding that this was not going to go in the man’s favor – and now, not in his, either. He shouldered passed Bull, who murmured a soft, ‘Genji, _don’t_ ,’ when he approached Vander. His _ōdachi_ was already unsheathed when he maneuvered his way in between the two men, drawing a clear line that indicated where Vander should not cross.

He did not take the action lightly. “What the fuck are you doin’, kid,” came his snarl; the sneering smile was now absent from his face. Genji, having nothing clever to say, fell into a practiced stance and narrowed his eyes. "If he's opposin' us, then he's opposin' yer folk - yer  _pa,_ and you're gonna  _protect_ him?" Genji still did not move. Vander coughed out an incredulous laugh, sounding anything but amused. “If you think I won’t knock you down to get to ‘im, you’re duller than an ox.”

“I am sure your drink has addled your mind, Vander,” Genji stated steadily, even as his heart was beating a mile a minute. “I will forgive this behavior, but only once.”

The man’s lips pursed and he took a sharp breath through his nose. After he glared at Genji for a moment, he turned his back to him and raised his arms to the others. “Well, thank Jesus! Shimada is gon’ forgive me fer wrongin’ him!” The exclamation was dripping with mock cheerfulness and the over exaggeration made the grip on the hilt of his blade tighten in annoyance. Vander turned to face Genji once again, his eyes wide. “But, Genji, it’s gonna be such a fuckin’ shame when ol’ Rodney takes a shot at yer back, ain’t it?” He raised his hands in a show of surrender even though Genji did not make a move. “I tried to stop him, I swear it. ‘S just that, no one expected it, everything happened so fast. We were jus’ takin’ a walk when some crazy kook with a shotgun started screamin’ ‘bout property.” Vander shook his head in disbelief, even going as far as to warble his voice when he finished with, “No one saw it comin’, man, he just blasted you down so quick. Yer father’ll be glad to hear we got the bastard for it, in the end, but you’ll already be dead.”

Faintly, the sound of horses grew louder from the stables, their whickering growing more nervous, like they could sense the tension in the air.

Bull spoke up when Genji still did not move from his spot. “C’mon, jus’ let ‘im cook ‘im. He ain’t nothin’ to you anyhow.”

“Boy’s right, this ain’t got nothin’ to do with you,” the rancher mumbled. “’S between me an’ these gangers.”

Genji wanted to give the man behind him an exasperated look, but he did not dare take his eyes off of the iron in Vander’s hand.

It was how he did not see it coming. While he was busy watching the gun, everyone else was watching him – no one cared to look behind them. The first man screeched when he was sent flying across the yard, crashing into the house and landing in a crumpled, broken pile. Vander whipped around in time to see the second of his group be grabbed in the jaws of a shadow and then tossed nearly ten feet into the air.

“What the _fuck_?”

Distantly, Genji heard Bull scream but he found he could not react, only watch as the shadow took three bullets to the chest. It did not even stumble, moving forward on four legs and then on two as it raked its claws across a Deadlock’s front to shred the man’s skin as if it were butter. The yell that was released after was garbled and was easily drowned out by the shots fired from the rest of their scrambled group. The onslaught seemed to do little to injure the shadow, but it did not seem to make it angrier. It hardly was affected at all. In spite of the fear coursing through Genji like blood, he could not help but notice how precise and practiced the thing moved.

Vander leaped off the porch and raised his gun, landing a powerful shot on the shadow. Like silk, the monster turned and charged toward its attacker. Once it was close enough, Vander had already slugged all of his remaining shells in the beast. Its lips pulled back to expose rows of blood-shined teeth and an earthshaking snarl rumbled deep from its chest. Vander’s trembling hand released the proud iron as the shadow’s massive jaws opened and snapped at the man’s neck with inhuman speed. With a sickening twist, bones shattered and Vander dropped into the grass, dead.

A door slammed shut and the world went still.

Genji spun around and found that the farmer had decided he had seen enough blood spilled that night. The thunking noises were muffled, but Genji knew that the door was being bolted and any chance of him hiding within had dwindled to nothing. A chill ran up his spine and he turned back to the yard. The beast’s head had obviously snapped up at the sudden noise and the porch’s lantern reflected off the thing’s eyes. They were the color of molten steel; orange embers set upon a bed of black.

Genji vaulted the railing and ran as fast as he could.

Heavy footsteps were on him within the second. Claws grasped at him, but only caught the fabric of his shirt. With a jerk and the sound of shredding material, Genji was knocked off balance and sent flying forward. Righting himself as to not fall at an awkward angle and cause more damage, he easily rolled back onto his feet. The shadow’s gaze was waiting for him, and then Genji noticed the fur. It was too dark to distinguish, but the features were unmistakably human, yet somehow less than that. He wielded his _ōdachi_ and heard Emilio’s voice whisper in the back of his mind, _el hombre de lobo._

It lumbered forward and bared its fangs in a growl, but all Genji could hear was Bull’s scream echoing in his ears, hear the phrase, ‘ _it never lets a man who’s seen im live’_ repeating itself over and over. He took a step back and held his sword higher. The beast dropped down so it was on all fours, but it did little to take away from the already vast height difference between them. He remained still, holding his breath and waiting for it to make a move against him.

It shot off suddenly, reaching an amazing speed faster than Genji had seen anything move. He barely had anytime to flinch as it bounded toward him – and then passed him. Thundering footsteps receded and Genji did not turn. His gaze was still locked in front of him, passed the bodies of the fourteen men, of his friend Bull, and at the stars over the horizon. His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees heavily; fingers went limp and caused his blade to drop onto the grass next to him. The air stank with spilled blood and dead men, but he was alive.

_He was alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of love this fic is getting is astounding, and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, or even just read it this far like, wowzers you guys. You're all the best!
> 
> Also, check out [this amazing artwork](http://pancakesandplaid.tumblr.com/post/150030580590) done by [pancakesandplaid](http://pancakesandplaid.tumblr.com/) that was inspired by the fic! Very nice of them and it's amazing, honestly. The rest of their work is really good, too, so drop by and check them out!
> 
> (I promise McCree will actually appear in this fic and have a line, I promise you)


	3. Tangible Illusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my keyboard is on its last leg apparently. Half of the keys only work half of the time, do if you find a word that doesn't make sense, just play hangman until it does! We call that metagaming, folks.
> 
> (I'm gonna use that as an excuse for why this chapter kind of blows)

The sky was turning from blue to pink when Genji had returned from the bloodied fields. The lobby of the inn was buzzing with hushed noise as men were beginning to start their day with a drink - or perhaps finishing their night with one. He did not see nor hear any of it, however. He could not remember how he had returned from the fields. It must have taken at least an hour to find his way back, but he could not recall any of it. All he could remember - all he could _see_ each time he closed his eyes - was the lumbering shadow. It was almost like he could still feel its gaze on him, and it made the blood in his veins go cold.

Genji did not notice the humming growing quieter as his presence became apparent. His eyes searched frantically around the room for a familiar face, and it felt like a blessing when he found one.

" _Father -_ "

" _Were you foolish enough to think we would not notice you missing, boy?_ _"_ The snarl came from his uncle. Genji had not seen him. " _How thoughtless must one be to go sneaking out on his own? In the middle of the night, no less."_

Only then did Genji register the searing glare on his father’s face.

Subconsciously, he searched for an escape, but he only found the eyes of the men left lounging around the inn, Dave and Emilio among them. Very suddenly, Genji felt his chest tighten. His brain was still locked in the night before, still panicking in order to survive. He was trapped again, frantic and desperate to run.

" _It baffles me, it truly does,"_ Jirou continued, still using their mother tongue even if it was clear to everyone in the room that the youngest Shimada was being scolded. " _How you - a_ Shimada _\- can be so inconsiderate to the family. We have not the time to be wasting on the likes of you and your ridiculous habits, boy."_

Genji watched the words leave his uncles mouth, but after that he processed none of them. Shame caused blood to rise to his face, his fearful shaking turning into full-body shudders. He wanted to walk away, but he knew that would only worsen the punishment he was only beginning to experience. Hands clenching in the opposite sleeves of his tunic, Genji only hung his head and tried to steady his breathing.

A hand fell on his shoulder, making him jolt harshly. Kenshin Shimada was the only thing Genji could see when his head snapped back up. He had not even noticed him moving. His eyes were still a stony brown and his face was carefully expressionless. Years ago, Genji would have thrown himself into his father's chest. He craved being younger in that moment, wanting nothing more to be a child instead of the fearless man he was meant to be. He wanted his father to hug him and tell him one of his stories about a hero that could have slain a beast such as the shadow from last night.

" _What happened to your clothes, Genji?"_

Looking down at himself, he was reminded of the state he was in. Dried mud caked the fabric of his front from when he had fallen, and he was certain the back was horribly shredded from the beast's claws.

"We were attacked," he said in unsteady English, returning his eyes back to his father's.

"Who is 'we'?" Kenshin questioned softly, hand still anchored on his son's shoulder firmly.

"Me and Bull, as well as some of his other friends."

From his peripherals, Genji could see Dave shift at the mention of Bull. Emilio closed his eyes, like he was praying.

"They are all dead," he told them, voice breaking on the very last syllable. "It was too fast, no one could stop it - "

"Stop what, boy?"

Genji did not direct his words to Jirou, even if it was him that asked the question. "The wolf man, father. It killed all of them, it tried to kill me but - "

His uncle’s sharp laugh made the rest of his sentence die on the tip of his tongue. "Foolish boy." Then, in Japanese, he added, " _You have spent too much time with these Americans."_

 _"You feel he is lying?"_ Kenshin asked his brother. " _Look at the state of him."_

 _"No, not lying,"_ Jirou allowed, crossing his arms. " _But I feel as if his fear might have warped his vision. If there was an attack, a fairytale would not be to blame."_

A spike of anger ignited in the pit of Genji's stomach, causing his brow to furrow. " _I saw it for myself, Uncle."_

 _"That I do not doubt, boy,"_ he replied, amusement evident in his expression. " _I have heard of men seeing the face of God in their moment of peril. If anything, you and your friends crossed paths with a pack of coyotes or feral dogs. There have been reports of men perishing to such things in this area as of late."_

For a moment, Genji could do nothing but shake his head in disbelief. He knew what he saw was no trick of the eye. The shadow's hot breath felt too real, its claws too sharp, the men's screams too loud. What he saw was no illusion.

" _It was real,"_ he said firmly. " _Father, I know - "_

The hand on his shoulder moved up to hold Genji's face. " _Go, Genji. Sleep. Perhaps your mind will clear."_ He pushed his son forward gently, urging him closer toward the stairs leading to the rooms. " _I will send Hanzo to wake you in a few hours."_

~*

 

Kenshin was true to his word. Not a minute after two hours, there was a knock at Genji's door. He did not answer, but whoever it was entered nonetheless. Despite his father's orders, Genji had not slept a second once he had gotten to his room, and Hanzo was not surprised to see him awake when he reached his bed.

" _Genji_ ," he greeted softly. There was no response, but he was watching the other, letting him know he was awake and aware. Hanzo was quiet for a long moment, fingers tapping along his crossed arms. " _I am sorry about your friend_."

Despite the awkwardness and the curt delivery, the sympathy was genuine. Before he sat up, Genji sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, but sleep refused to take him - or, rather, he _refused_ to let sleep take him. Dreams were sure to haunt him, so he remained awake.

" _Uncle told you, then._ "

" _He told me you were attacked,_ " Hanzo admitted. " _You could have been killed, Genji. Because you slipped off in the dead of night, you would have died with none of us knowing how and when._ _First the Deadlocks, now I must guide you away from the forest lest you are devoured by rabid dogs."_  Although his expression remained neutral, Hanzo's voice wavered several times with both anger and worry. He shook his head, as if Genji were some peculiar oddity left on the Shimada doorstep that he had spent too long fretting about rather than his brother. " _How do you always manage to find trouble?_ "

" _I do not find trouble. I live in the world, and the world is trouble. I do not spend my life in the shadow of a family name."_ It was a low blow, but he was in a sour mood from the lack of sleep. Hanzo did not flinch, anyway, having heard more petty quips from him before. " _And it was not feral dogs. I know what I saw, Hanzo._ "

" _Uncle mentioned you would say something like that, as well. He told me you were in too much shock to be taken seriously,"_ Hanzo told him.

" _Do you believe him?_ "

The slump of Hanzo's shoulders was all Genji needed for an answer, but he still responded with, " _Genji, the men you spend your time with have filled your mind with these tales. There is no such thing as wolf men, and these Americans are stupid for believing so."_

 _"Am I speaking to the same brother who once thought a dragon lurked under his skin?"_ Genji questioned, his eyes narrowing in a challenge.

Hanzo's expression hardened again. " _I was a child. These are men, and they are foolish_." Briskly, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. Without even looking over his shoulder, he left Genji with a firm, " _Father wants you out of bed,"_ before shutting the door behind him after he left.

 

~*

 

It was nearing sun down when Dave and Emilio finally approached him. He was just getting back to the inn as they were leaving and was left unable to find a way around them without catching their eye. Genji was in no mood to submit himself to the conversation they undoubtedly wanted to have, but he had no choice in the matter as Dave had grabbed his arm in a firm grip, holding him in place.

"This ain't some joke yer pullin' on us, ain't it?" He asked gruffly. "He ain't gone?"

Genji swallowed. "No, David. Bull is dead."

Dave loosened his grip on Genji's arm and hissed out a soft, " _Fuck_."

Emilio nudged him to grab his attention. "You saw it? _El hombre de lobo_?"

Genji nodded.

"Th'other guys can't believe it," Dave informed, shaking his head. "An' whoe'er does believe it think yer some kind of ninja warrior or some shit. Yer a hero, kid."

Genji thought of Vander and his sour breath. He remembered how the light from the farmer's lantern bounced off the iron aimed for his head. He wondered what Dave and the other Deadlocks would think if they had known he stepped in between them and a farmer. Would they still think of him as a hero?

"They wan' you to help us," Dave said.

"With what?"

"You're the only one who's seen the thing and lived," Emilio remarked with a shrug. "You did somethin' right."

Fear gripped Genji like a tight fist around his throat. "You plan on hunting it down?"

Dave gave him a wild smile. "Ain't nobody fuck with the Deadlocks, boy. Not even some giant ass monster."

"I am afraid I have to decline," Genji said as solemnly as he could. "After last night, my father would prefer if I were to stay indoors for the evening." It was not a lie, but if these men had known Genji any better, they would have known Kenshin's request would have meant little to him. If Genji wanted to leave, then he would. "I apologize, my friends."

Dave looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Emilio shrugging and turning away seemed to stop him. Genji took the stairs two at a time until he reached the third floor, not relaxing until he pushed through the curtain separating the hallway to the balcony. He paused to take a deep breath, happy to find the rocking chairs were unoccupied. He found few people ever ventured out to the balcony, even fewer at the same time as Genji. It was his escape, and when he heard someone coming, he ventured even higher up to avoid making small talk.

Today, he had rather not run the risk. Genji headed straight for the railing and pulled himself onto the roof, settling into the corner closest to the street below. Like before, watching the people go about their day set him at ease. It was slightly jarring to go from the events of the night before and then to this. The calmness gave him whiplash at first. It was strange how these people went on throughout their day while living in the metaphorical lion's den, what with the Deadlocks as a next-door neighbor and the shadow lurking throughout the night. Perhaps they had gotten used to it. Normalcy was out of his realm, so what was Genji to say? He had to enjoy it vicariously through the residents of the city, which was not a hard task to fulfill. Every day brought a new batch of citizens, as their street was a busy one. The many shops and saloons made for a popular destination apparently, and Genji took interest in almost every other person that walked by. He never saw the same face twice, he found.

Except for the man across the street. He was a reoccurring figure, it seemed. The serape-clad man always appeared just when Genji had forgotten about him. Curious, Genji crept closer to the edge of the building, slow enough to where his sudden movements would not attract attention. It certainly was the same man from the saloon the day before, the same hat even. The serape was blue, today, though. Even so, there was no mistaking him.

He was not watching Genji this time, either. In fact, once he had gotten a closer look, he could see the tension in the man's shoulders. From their previous meetings, the man had been nothing but relaxed and at ease. It was odd. Genji scanned the area close by, noting that no one was near enough to be speaking to him. The man was standing stalk still, uncomfortable for seemingly no reason.

From the building Genji was perched on, a sudden burst of noise erupted. He could not see the source, but there was no doubt it was several Deadlock men piling out onto the street. It startled the man across the street, making him straighten and pull the brim of his hat lower over his face, not unlike the way he tipped it when he had caught Genji staring.

He had seen a lot of this man, Genji finally realized.

The group of men came into view below, parting the crowd of people like a boulder in a river. Genji spotted Dave and Emilio near the front, each of them carrying an iron and heading east. Briefly, the youngest Shimada son wondered how the Deadlocks had not been arrested. Maybe they bought out the police force like his family had done.

Genji shook himself from his musings in time to see the man across the street move out from under the shop awning he had been hiding under. For a moment, he watched the Deadlocks' backs until the street's bustle swarmed around them until they could not be seen. Then he adjusted his serape and headed west.

Genji pushed himself up to stand, finding his balance before he walked along the edge of the building. Then he jumped the gap separating him from the next roof. He was going west.

 

~*

 

He followed the man until he reached the forest. Remaining out of sight was relatively easy. When the buildings were fewer and farther in between, he continued on foot a good hundred yards behind the man, using wagons or horses as cover when he felt too exposed. It was not until he disappeared in the foliage of the woods that Genji froze. The bloodied fields were some miles away, but looking at the trees made him feel like he was there again, looking into the eyes of the shadow.

Numbing himself, Genji pushed forward until he was at the edge of the forest. He could not risk going on foot anymore. The crunching of leaves and snapping twigs were sure to give him away. Luckily enough, the woods were made up of sturdy oaks with thick trunks and heavy branches. They could be scaled easily, and Genji had worked with less in the past. Even so, he did not dare get too close. He remained a distance far enough, but still close so he could hear the man ease himself through the trees, which was no easy feat. This mystery man was practiced with his steps, obviously familiar with the land around him. He moved silently, even in his rush.

It was nearly another hour of this until the man slowed to a stop; the sun was nearly set and it turned the forest more grey than green. Genji shifted closer to the base of the tree he rested on, peering through the cloud of leaves as the man knelt next to a fallen oak. From a hollowed part of the trunk, he dragged out piles of dead leaves and plants until there was nothing left but the wood underneath. Finally, he stood, taking his hat off first. After it was set down gently, his serape was tugged off and tossed unceremoniously into the hollowed trunk. His shirt was peeled off next, and Genji's eyes widened when the man went for the button on his pants after that.

He quickly took interest in the bark of the oak he was sat in, biting the inside of his cheek in order to not make the shocked noise he so desperately wanted to. When the rustling of fabric stopped, he finally tore his eyes away from the tree and cautiously looked back to the strange man in time to see him placing his retrieved hat on top of the pile of clothes. He did not stand back up to his full height, but rather remained hunched over the fallen tree.

Genji watched in fascination, and then in horror as the muscles under tanned skin shifted, contorting to fit around elongated bones. He nearly lost sight of him in the growing darkness of the forest, but he could still hear the pained groan that left him, hear the ripping of roots as clenched fists ripped them from the dirt under them. Soon, those fists turned to claws and the groans turned to heaving snarls and growls. The man writhed on the forest floor until he was a man no more, but the shadow from the bloodied fields who had killed fourteen men and was apparently of Genji's imagination.

It seemed very real in that moment.

He did not even breathe in fear of drawing attention to himself, only watched as the beast rose on its legs slowly like it had just roused from slumber. Once steady, it focused on pushing the pile of leaves over the clothes in the trunk with its snout, only snorting twice when a stray leaf stuck to the wet of its nose. It huffed after that was finished, and did not waste another second before it leapt over the fallen oak and crashed through the low branches in its haste. The shadow was heading east.

He waited exactly five minutes before he moved again. He shifted his body into a more comfortable position quietly, and then waited another five minutes. In the back of his mind, he thought if he sat still long enough, he would wake up in his bed at the inn. The entire day would have been a demented fever dream he experienced due to some American sickness he was exposed to. He would hate for his Uncle to be right, but at this point he wished Jirou were to wake him up right then just to say ' _I told you so'._

Once he was sure the shadow - the _man_ \- was not returning in that moment and that he was living in some horrific reality, he dropped down onto the ground lightly. Slowly, Genji crept closer to the hollow tree, as if the beast were to leap out at him from inside it. Sure enough, all that was in there were the clothes of the strange man precariously hidden under dead leaves. He knelt down, reaching inside and retrieving the hat from the pile. Running his thumb across the brim of it, he remembered very clearly the way the man tipped the hat at him the first time they met, how he smiled at Genji from under it the second time.

He stood up and turned on his heel, placing the hat on his head so he could use both hands to climb the tree closest him.

 

~*

 

It was close to midnight when Genji realized that the man might not survive. If he had looked nervous earlier that evening; he must have known something Genji did not to make him fear the Deadlock's hunting party. Even still, he waited outside the saloon where his father bought out the Red Shots patiently, the stranger's hat still resting on his head. In all honestly, Genji did not know how he knew the man would find him, or even if he would if he could. If the Deadlocks did not kill him and he survived to find his hat missing, who was to say he would go looking for it? Perhaps he had as many hats as he had serapes.

Genji shifted from one foot to the other, falling back to rest against the saloon's wall. He could hear the noise from outside, the chanting and singing proving to be enough entertainment as he waited for the man to show. He looked up toward the sky and at the moon. If he did not appear soon, he would have to turn back for the inn. Not only was he tired from minimal sleep, but he was not about to leave his bed empty two mornings in a row. Uncle Jirou would surely explode then, and the mere thought of his father's reaction sent chills up Genji's spine.

The sudden sound of spurs made Genji's ears ring. He was taller than Genji by nearly half a foot, and when the youngest Shimada turned to face him, he had to look up in order to see his eyes. Because of this, he was painfully aware of the hat that was still sat upon his head; the brim of if just in his view but glaring enough to be obvious. The man noticed it, too, and seemed unimpressed.

Slowly, Genji reached up, removed the hat, and offered it back to the man, who moved just as slowly to take it from him. Once it was comfortably back where it belonged, he nodded at Genji and murmured a low, "Thank you kindly." It might have been a dismissal, but neither of them moved. Genji was too afraid to. Who was to say this man would not pull something once his back was turned, even in public? The other seemed just as unsure, but not so much as afraid as he was confused.

Folding his arms behind his back, Genji nervously rocked back and forth on his heels. The man watched him with steady brown eyes and a raised eyebrow.

"Are you going to kill me?" Genji finally asked, still rocking.

The man seemed to think for a moment, and Genji did not know if the thoughtfulness was a good or bad thing. "I don't know," he admitted. "Reckon I need some whiskey in me 'fore I make a decision like that."

He walked passed Genji and toward the entrance to the saloon, Genji following his movements carefully, never letting his back be to the man. The doors opened, and the light poured out onto the porch and over the man, who did not take his eyes off of Genji, either. His stare was as calculating as it was tired, Genji realized, almost as tired as he felt. The man had had a very long night, it seemed.

After he took a deep, steadying breath, Genji followed him into the saloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (don't look at me ok i needed to update bcuz im moving and i wanted to get something out there im sorry)
> 
> As always, if you see something wrong with it this chapter, let me know! The tags are updated as the story progresses, so there's a big chance I might miss something. If there's something you want to see tagged that hasn't been, I'll be glad to change it.
> 
> Until next time, folks.


	4. Racing Thoughts, Halted Notions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not, for I have returned.

The whiskey went down how Genji imagined lantern oil would, sitting heavily in his belly. It felt like someone struck a match and set it aflame, as well, because it burnt his chest when it settled. It was uncomfortable for the first few drinks, very unlike the beer he had shared with Bull and the others. Whiskey was different, definitely, and after the third glass it seemed like another drink entirely. It was smoother and the fire in his lungs eased into a burning ember that was not as terrible as when he started.

“Y’alright, kid?”

Genji turned his eyes onto the man to his left. His cigar was burnt to just over half of what it had been when they first sat down. They had gone a while without saying anything. Genji had not known where to start.

“Did you kill them?” His words came out slow, his tongue suddenly unfamiliar behind his teeth.

The man regarded him with a raised brow. Genji stared back at him defiantly. “No,” the man answered, and Genji went back to spinning his glass gently in his hands. “Nah. Didn’t go nowhere near ‘em. Covered some tracks and put ‘em somewhere else ‘s all.”

He did not know whether or not the news was supposed to make him feel better or worse. Dave and Emilio were alive. They survived their night when they were practically signing a death certificate. The men from the bloodied fields were not so lucky. What was the difference between them?

“The night on the farm,” Genji started carefully, focusing on the syllables and enunciating properly. “You killed _them_.” The man nodded. “And not the men hunting you?”

“I ain’t lettin’ some rancher die ‘cause a couple of fellas’re too drunk.” He drained the rest of his own glass without even flinching. “I could lead ‘em away tonight. I had t’step in then.”

“If they had found you?”

The man’s brow rose again, like he did not know what to make of Genji. “Then I’d’ve stepped in.”

Genji stared at him, who returned his eyes back to the countertop. “You did not kill me.”

He hummed and nodded, not commenting further. With a heavy sigh, the man shifted around in his seat like he was planning on leaving in that second. He did not, but rather turned to face Genji so he could extend his right hand. “Name’s McCree.”

Genji watched the hand, unsure of what to do. He was hit with the memory of Bull, and his first day in the Americas. He wiped the condensation from the glass off his palm on the front of his shirt and took the other’s hand.

“McCree,” he repeated for himself. The man nodded again. “A strange name, even for an American.”

“’S my last name,” McCree explained, a thoughtful look on his face. He was still mostly facing Genji, the arm he used to shake his hand now leaned against the counter; relaxed. “E’rybody calls me that.”

From behind the bar, the tender refilled his glass. “Back in my home of Japan, the proper way of introduction was starting with the family name,” he remarked, picking up his fresh drink once the tender retreated. “Nobody has greeted me in such a way for a long time.” The amber liquid lacked the minute burn it once had. He hardly felt it go down. “That being said, I am Shimada Genji.”

McCree hummed again. “Funny way of doin’ it.”

“Family is all we have,” Genji replied firmly.

“’Course. Didn’t mean no offense.” He flicked the ashes of his cigar into a short glass filled halfway with water and placed it back between his lips. “Guess that’d make me McCree Jesse.”

Genji watched the man huff out a cloud of smoke and thought only of Bull. Strange. Bull never smoked, at least not when Genji was with him. Maybe it was the way McCree talked. They were both friendly enough, as well. For a time, at least. Bull had run with the Deadlock gang, the same men that had nearly killed Genji – until the shadow had killed _them_. It struck Genji again all at once that the monster that slaughtered those men was sitting to his right, sharing a drink. Genji had seen Bull’s shadow that night in the bloodied fields, so ready to kill an innocent man and _him_ if it had escalated so. McCree wore his shadow like a separate skin, hidden in a different way.

“Does it hurt you?” McCree furrowed his brow rather than ask for clarification. “When you,” Genji gestured vaguely with his hand. “Shift?”

The brow furrowed further and once again Genji got the feeling McCree did not know what to think of him. “Well, it ain’t comfortable. Doesn’t hurt, ain’t pleasant.”

His glass was filled again. He had not even seen the tender that time. “But you can control it? Or does something make you turn?”

“I control it.” There was a smile on McCree’s face, small and barely there. It was not malicious, so Genji did not get the impression that this was all some trick on him. It felt more like the man thought him to be amusing.

Genji felt himself grinning in return. He drained what was left of his whiskey and swiped his tongue across his bottom lip. His eyelids were heavy. “I had followed you. From the inn.”

“I know,” McCree said back.

“Did you?”

McCree made another humming noise. “Not then. I did afterward. Smelt ya all over my clothes.”

Genji thought about that for a moment. He did not remember touching anything but the hat. The blue of the other man’s serape caught his attention somehow, like it had suddenly appeared. He nearly reached out to touch it, wondering if it was scratchy or soft. “I saw you undress.”

A bark of laughter startled Genji into look back up to the other’s face. McCree’s smile was bright, enjoying a joke Genji did not know he had told. “Did you, now?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, pardner,” McCree reached into his pocket to retrieve a couple bills and dropped them on the countertop. Then, he pried the glass – which was filled again – from Genji’s hand and set that on the counter as well. “Thinkin’ we oughta get you back to yer pa.”

“I believe I can make it on my own, thank you for your concern.” He stood slowly, one hand gripping the edge of the counter and focusing mainly on keeping his balance.

He must have not done very good, because McCree put a large, steadying hand on his shoulder and another on his chest. “You sure ‘bout that, pal?”

They left the saloon, and from their Genji relied mostly on McCree in order to stand up right, The other did not seemed to be bothered by it; he handled the extra weight with ease, having pulled one of Genji’s arms across his shoulders and using one of his own to wrap around the younger’s waist. The time from between the bar to the inn was an enigma to Genji, and was lost to him immediately. From the cool, night air on his skin to the rocking of McCree’s walk, most of the trek was spent with his eyes closed.

Finally, when McCree stopped, Genji pulled away to regain his thoughts. In front of him, the inn’s windows were dimly lit, foretelling the consciousness of several men in the lobby. Nothing the youngest Shimada had not expected. Every night he snuck out, he would have to sneak back in the same way, as the eyes that were inside fed directly into his father’s ears.

The wall was slippery, but Genji was sure it had not rained. Even so, he managed to find a good grip on a windowsill and pulled up enough to reach another sill that belonged to the second floor. Something seized him, then, and for a moment he thought he was falling but he did not dare make a sound lest the men inside heard. However, whatever had grabbed him made sure he landed on his feet, but did not hold on to him.

“What in the _hell_ are you tryna pull, kid?” McCree hissed quietly, sounding like he had just done something like pull Genji from a rushing river rather than off of the building.

“I am going inside,” Genji told him slowly, expression that of confusion.

With an incredulous scoff, McCree gaped at him. “You were climbin’ the wall like some crazy ass spider, is what you was doin’.”

“Yes,” the younger confirmed. “To get inside.”

“That ain’t what we’re doin’ here tonight, kid, alright – “

“I cannot go through the lobby; the eyes will tell my father ears that I was out.” McCree blinked, obviously trying to collect himself and Genji did not have the patience for it. “My room is that window there. I leave it unlatched.”

McCree shook his head. “I ain’t lettin’ you climb the damn walls. Y’can’t even keep yer eyes open, you’re gonna pass out on the way up an’ kill yerself.”

Genji laughed, waving a hand to dismiss the man and his concerns. “I have done worse things under more intense circumstances.”

“Well you don’t gotta worry ‘bout intense circumstances tonight, sweetheart, ‘cause we ain’t using the front door.” He turned toward the small alley way in between the inn and the fur shop next to it. He turned suddenly, pointing at Genji like he had remembered something. “And nobody is climbin’ the damn walls, y’hear?”

When he did not turn back around, Genji shrugged and nodded in agreement. It did not seem to satisfy McCree, but he returned to his search nonetheless. With his back to him, Genji scowled petulantly. Who was this man to order him around? He might be the youngest son, but he was still a Shimada. He was part of an honorable family; he could climb the damn building if he so pleased.

He did not get far. Before he could even lift himself up onto the first sill, the pair of arms from before wound around his waist again and pulled, but Genji’s feet never met the ground this time.

“ _Release me_ ,” he snapped, trying to pry away from McCree who merely held him higher.

“Did ya think I wasn’t gonna see yer drunk ass goin’ for it again?” Genji did not answer with words, but with an elbow to McCree’s shoulder. “Ah – _hey now_ , cut that shit out – “

“ _Put me down!”_ Another weak kick was delivered to McCree’s shin before Genji gave up with the struggle. Instead, he went limp in hopes that the dead weight would be too much for the man. It was not.

“Now,” McCree started. There was no strain in his voice, as if he was not supporting himself and Genji at the same time. “I’ll let you down but not ‘til you promise you ain’t gonna run for the damn windows again.”

Genji opened his mouth to respond, but found he had nothing to say. His head lolled back on McCree’s shoulder, too tired to lift it again when McCree gave him a gentle shake. When his eyes closed, he did not open them after.

 

~*

 

When Genji realized he was awake, he did not open his eyes. Too afraid to. He recognized the taste on his tongue and the feeling in his stomach. Carefully he rolled onto his side and away from the window, hoping to lessen the amount of light he took in when he finally opened his eyes. It did not do much and he still groaned when the nausea made his skin crawl. He tried to curl in on himself, as if it would ease the pain in his abdomen. It did nothing, but it did bring his clothes to his attention.

They were the same as the night before, Genji was sure of it. He blinked down at himself. His shoes were still on, as well. The sheets and blankets were neatly made underneath him. Was he that tired last night? Did he really just fall into bed that carelessly? His head was pounding.

It seemed that hours had passed until Genji felt like he could move again without running the risk of getting sick. Sitting up was a slow process, and it was more taxing than it should have been. He caught his breath, rubbing a hand across his forehead and brushing the hair off the sweaty skin. He needed to bathe. Perhaps then he would feel better.

The cold water, while worsening the headache, did wonders to wake him up. The breakfast that was left for him helped a little, as well, and he felt like a human being once again. He had eaten in the lobby as fast as he could without making his stomachache worse in order to get away from the other men lounging around. None of them actually confronted him, but Genji would almost rather it if they had. Ever since he arrived in the Americas, he had been watched and stared at because of his looks. Now, they were less malicious. These people regarded him as if he were a legendary hero, awestruck by his fame. It made him as uncomfortable as the ache in his muscles did.

After he had finished, he retreated back to the third floor so none of the staring men could see him leave. They would not dare bother him in his room, and that is where they will believe him to be. Genji had done well in keeping his balcony escapes a secret; the only people who knew of them were himself and Hanzo.

The cool, crisp air seemed ease the pounding in his head slightly. The dizziness had subsided long ago but he did not take the chance, moving slowly and with practiced steps to reach the roof. From up there, the sight was not any better than the one he could get from the balcony itself. Privacy was his only intent when he sought out the roof. Down below was nothing but the same as it always was. Moving people and crowded noise, which now was a familiarity to him. Without a thought about it, Genji looked down at the shop across the street and found the porch empty.

Like a slap to the face, Genji remembered McCree. Nothing about him was clear, but the name and face were prominent in the shadows and whispers that became Genji’s memories of the night before. He recalled the man’s smile, the warmth, the smooth of his voice when he called Genji ‘ _sweetheart’_. It was odd, Genji decided, that McCree had him – the young man who knew his feral secret – at his most vulnerable, yet did nothing to silence him. Two times, now, McCree had spared his life when any self-preserving man would have killed him to keep him quiet.

Genji was not one to owe a debt. He leapt across the gap separating the inn from the neighboring building. Landing lightly on his feet, he continued on in a rising pace for the next jump and then the next until he reached a view of the street over. Santa Fe was large, he knew, and it was unlikely that he would find a single man easily – especially if that man did not want to be found, which Genji doubted McCree did.

Genji smiled to himself. He was not one to owe a debt, nor was he one to shy away from a challenge.

 

*~

 

The determination he had felt earlier in the afternoon had dwindled to a burning ember by evening. Having already not been feeling well, the added heat and exertion of climbing buildings quickly exhausted Genji. It was why he had long since abandoned the rooftops, finding it easier and less taxing on his sore body to walk the streets with the other citizens. Less taxing, but still tiring. From dodging the children weaving in and out of everyone’s legs to avoiding being trampled by the carriages in the street, Genji was ready to call his search off. He had clearly not anticipated the number of hiding places McCree could be dwelling in. There were multiple saloons on every street and a number of shops in between them, too many for one man to go through in a single day. It was even a stretch so say McCree was in the city at all, but somewhere in the woods he had been patrolling the night before.

Wearily, Genji broke off from the crowd and slipped into the nearest alley that was void of people. He did not venture in deep, but he was far enough to where the sunlight could not reach him and the noise was mostly muted. The wall caught him when he fell back, the air in his chest leaving him suddenly in a long-suffering sigh. Making his way home would be dreadful he knew, and he still had to choose which of the two evils he would rather traverse through. Genji did not feel like braving the main street again, but on the other hand he was not sure if he could manage to pull himself up another building.

“That all you had in you for the day?”

He did not open his eyes immediately to address the voice. Besides, he knew who it was just from the way the hair at the back of his neck stood on end, how goosebumps spread across his arms despite the heat. His body sensed it, his brain told him _run, run run._ He did not. He straightened and asked, “Have you been following me?”

McCree was smiling a self-satisfied grin at him from around his cigar when Genji finally did look that way. “I still haven’t decided on what I’m gonna do with ya,” he said, rather than answer Genji’s question. “But if you keep tryna follow me ‘round, you ain’t gonna give me much of a choice.” He raised his brow when Genji did not respond. “You hearin’ what I’m sayin’?”

Genji fought the urge to narrow his eyes. The building adjacent to him had a loose board in the paneling. Even further above that was a windowsill that looked over the roof of the building next to it. It was a stretch, though Genji had made worse. He might not even need the escape, but he was holding his breath. This man was dangerous, even in this skin. McCree did not need his fur to be intimidating; the iron at his hip glinted in the sun just as the beast’s teeth did and it was enough to make Genji wary.

McCree adjusted his serape so it laid over his shoulder, effectively concealing the gun and drawing Genji’s gaze back to his face.

“Forgive me,” he said, letting a grin of his own cross his features, and then stay there when he saw the way the man’s eyebrow twitched at it. “I had only hoped to thank you for last night.” The smile on his face faltered just for a moment when he added, “And apologize. My behavior was . . . unacceptable.”

That made McCree huff out a short laugh. “Now, I wouldn’t say that. More tame than most with that much whiskey in ya. Hard to believe you ain’t still stuck in bed with barrel fever.”

Genji thought he had a relatively good grasp on the English language. This man was proving him wrong. He did not want to ask what the other could have possibly meant, not wanting to express his confusion. That would suggest unintelligence, and he would lose ground in their conversation; dig himself into a hole just so McCree could look down on him further. _You are on the defense,_ a voice told him. _Do not show any weakness._ The voice reminded him of his brother.

 _Look at him,_ Genji would have replied, had Hanzo been there. He doubted Hanzo would not have already seen how taut the man’s shoulders were, how his serape fell over his figure in a way that foretold his shooting hand was resting on the grip of his iron. Genji still would have mentioned it, just to let his brother know he had been looking as well. _I am not the only one. He is as afraid of me as I am of him._

He knew Hanzo would have laughed at that in the way he did; short and hard but still fond. It was how Genji could tell his brother knew something he did not, and the only way he would learn was if he taught himself – looked for himself. _He is not afraid,_ Hanzo would state, the smile that was reserved for him barely hidden. _Not afraid, but he does not trust you. He is smart,_ Hanzo would have said. _So are you._

“I regret it happened this way,” Genji started again before his silence stretched on for too long, “but I am glad we have finally been able to meet. I have seen you several times while out with my family or friends, however I was too busy to introduce myself.”

McCree’s eyebrow twitched again. Genji’s grin returned full force. “No offense was taken. ‘M sure you were busy.” His tone took an accusatory edge, slight but it was evident to Genji.

“Hardly,” he replied, pretending he had not heard it. “Anyone who even pays us the slightest attention could decipher I am never busy with my father’s work.” _What about you, McCree? Have you been paying attention?_

“Sure do spend a lot of time with ‘em, for someone who don’t approve.”

Genji shrugged, “They are my family.”

“Family is all you have,” McCree replied with a nod, using the words Genji had recited the night before. _I’ve been paying attention,_ his expression said. _I know you_.

“Family is all I have,” Genji repeated. “Very true. It is why we Shimadas are so formidable. No, I do not agree with them, but I would never see something happen to them – not as long as I could avoid it.” He paused, as if he expected McCree to interrupt him then. He did not speak, just continued to watch him carefully. “Why have you been watching us, _Mister_ McCree?”

The way the man’s jaw set was enough of a clue to Genji that perhaps he should reel back. He had taken too much, and McCree was not pleased. “You ain’t runnin’ with a good group,” he answered honestly. “Not sure if you or yer pa know it. Then again, you an’ me both know you ain’t such a clean group either.”

He had to be referring to the Deadlocks; there was no other faction the Shimadas affiliated with there in the Americas. There was no connection between McCree and the Deadlocks – at least, none that Genji could think of. He refrained from asking the man what the gang had to do with him and, in turn, his family. He felt he had pushed too far already, and he must tread carefully from there on out.

Still, he could not help but furrow his brow in a bout of confusion. Wracking his mind for an explanation was futile, because the only thing he could think of was Bull. Along with the memory of his friend was the nagging feeling that he _should_ know this, that the connection was right in front of his nose. There was undoubtedly a link between Bull and Jesse McCree.

“Jesse McCree.” Genji had whispered it lowly to himself, but McCree still cocked his head like he had heard it. _Best shot this side of the trail, died too young, Jesse McCree._ “You are Jesse McCree,” he said louder, maybe a little too loud. He was too proud to tone it down, however, because he figured it out. The illusive mystery that was this man was solved, and he had done it himself. But above all that pride was the feeling of a numbing shock, like Genji was standing face-to-face with a ghost. “You are supposed to be _dead_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, folks! There's some things I'm working through with this move, but when there's a hotspot, there's a way. That being said, the uploading of this is kinda rushed, so if the formatting is weird, let me know and I'll see what I can do to fix it. 
> 
> Also, if there are dumb spelling mistakes or just plain weirdness going on, let me know on that, too!
> 
> Real quick, too, thank you to [genji-shimeowda](http://genji-shimeowda.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, who's drawn a lot of amazing stuff inspired by this is fic, which is super nice! Check them out!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for sticking through and reading! Until next time, folks!


	5. Stepping on Overturned Stones; Going Upwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other authors: has a broad vocabulary, uses metaphors only when they need to, dialogue flows nicely, content is not choppy and is very descriptive when explaining the setting/how ppl talk/everything in general
> 
> Me: *spells definitely right on the first try* nice

_His horse shuffled her legs and huffed. She was antsy from their lack of movement and the rapid motion of the herd around them. Jesse did not notice, too focused on the sight of his father on the hill. A feeling of admiration had blinded him, a sort of feeling he would be too embarrassed or too proud to admit to anyone. It was not the horse that finally pulled him from his quiet introspection, but the hand that grabbed at his shoulder with a firm grip. Jesse yelped, jolting hard enough that the mare trotted forward a few steps and the hand fell away from him, the owner of it bursting into a fit of laughter. He whirled his horse around in time to see one of his father’s farmhands pulling himself back into his saddle where he presumably almost fell from._

_Jesse scowled, “Christ, Redge! You coulda_ killed _me!” He stroked his horse’s neck to calm her, and in a softer voice he said, “Almost made the poor thing boil over.”_

_Reggie held back his next laugh by biting his bottom lip and watched Jesse with bright eyes. When he could speak without his voice trembling with giggles, he said, “If it ain’t me gettin’ you killed, ‘is gonna be one’a these beeves.” His usual sharp features turned soft when his grin spread even bigger. “Thought I oughta come over and get yer feet movin’, ‘cause I’d be mighty disappointed if you got yerself flattened.”_

_With a roll of his eyes, Jesse clicks his tongue and the mare under him moves forward. Reggie followed and did not let his friend’s behavior deter him from continuing._

_“Then who would I talk to on this long, treacherous walk up north?” Reggie asked, his tone adopting a dramatic flair while he gestured high up into the air with one arm. “Reckon it ain’t gonna be Ol’ Dan.” He added, tipping his hat upward to get a clearer view of the horizon, like the man mentioned would materialize in front of them to lend Reggie a back hand to the side of his head. “Don’t think he likes me too much.”_

_“Maybe you shouldn’t be talkin’ to anyone,” Jesse suggested. “Just keep yer mouth shut and do the job my pa pays you to do.”_

_“_ Maybe _,” Reggie drawled, nearly leaning clear off his horse as if Jesse might not hear him from where he had sat. Jesse made a point of leaning away. “Your pa pays me ta keep an eye on ya. E’er think’ve that, smartass?”_

 _Jesse bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cracking a smile of his own. It did not help; the effort only proved to make it harder to maintain his neutral expression. The way Reggie’s eyes blinked rapidly_ definitely _did not help. It reminded Jesse of a poor replication of how some of the young girls back in Santa Fe would flutter their eyelashes, which must be what Reggie was going for. Jesse shoved at the other’s shoulder so the yelp that he got in return would drown out his own laughter._

_“’M bein’ serious here, though,” Reggie announced after he situated himself once again, and even though the smile was gone from his face, the mirth never left his eyes. Jesse wondered if it ever would. “I don’ ‘member seein’ you eat.”_

_“I did.” It was a lie, and an easy one. He had told it many times since leaving Santa Fe. His father told him a lot of things, taught him a lot of things, but most of what Jesse knows about his father he had to learn on his own. It had been obvious at first that something was bothering Randall McCree, something new that was not the dangers of the road or losing some of the cattle. Once his son noticed, it only took half a day for him to piece out what it could have been._

_They had not been on the road for two weeks before food was becoming scarce. Now they were passed the third week and every time Jesse saw his father stopped on a tall hill, he knew the man was worrying. He had always joked that if Randall was not a farmer, he would have made worrying his profession. There was never a reason for him to take anything seriously, all the man’s concerns seemed mundane and abstract. In that moment, seeing the stock in the wagons, Jesse had made a decision._

_Apparently, it had not taken long for Reggie to see through him._

_“C’mon, now,” he said through an exasperated sigh. “I know what I’ve been seein’. Quit actin’ like I’m goin’ senile at twenty.”_

_“Then you quit actin’ like I’m baby,” Jesse countered. His nose scrunched up in a distasteful scowl. He was_ not _a child; if his father saw him as one, he would not be on this Long Walk in the first place. It seemed like everyone but the McCrees disagreed on that notion. Everyone except Ol’ Dan, that is. In the beginning, Jesse had thought that to be untrue; the man offered him his jug of water each time they had passed one another. The younger refused, of course, because he could take care of himself and he knew when he was thirsty or not. On the fourth day of their trip, he accepted it in hopes that it would satisfy Ol’ Dan enough to leave him off it for at least a day or two. When he took a swig, however, Jesse was quick to realize that the jug was not filled with water, but with straight whiskey. He swallowed as best as he could without choking, having had taken a hearty mouthful, and handed back the jug back to Ol’ Dan. The man shuffled away on his horse with a small and prideful grin._

_“I ain’t treatin’ you like a baby. Can’t a fella worry for his pal?” The wind whipping at the tall grass and the pounding hooves was a deafening noise, but it was not nearly loud enough for Jesse to miss Reggie telling him, “I wasn’t foolin’ when I said I’d be mighty disappointed if you got yerself hurt.”_

_Jesse felt his scowl rapidly melt away from the heat rushing high up to his cheeks. He tugged the brim of his hat lower and hoped that it and the darkness of the night would do well to hide his growing grin._

_Reggie’s horse approached his own, so close that their legs nearly brushed. “You reckon yer pa will notice if we’re missin’ for a few minutes?”_

_“A few minutes?” Jesse repeated, raising his brow at the other. He hummed. “’M glad you ain’t so full of yerself anymore, Redge.”_

_It took just a second of mulling over Jesse’s words before Reggie gawked, pretending to be absolutely appalled. “Hey, now! Cut yer shit! If I’m recallin’ correctly, you’re the one – “_

_A blast stopped the rest of his words in his throat. Both halted their horses, eyes scanning the field and hills around them for the source, or anyone else other than cows and themselves. Nervously, Jesse became aware that the cattle had since wrapped around the base of one of the hills, separating them from the front of the herd with a mass of cows and earth. Jesse scanned the horizon, hoping to find his father where he had last seen him, just under the moon but Randall was nowhere to be found._

_Another gunshot resounded, echoing in the valley, this one closer than the first._

_After it came a scream, animalistic and chilling and it was what finally spread alarm through the herd. They scattered, breaking apart from within and darting in all sorts of directions. The sounds of a firefight reached them, then, and Jesse dug his spurs into the sides of his mare. She kicked off, dashing up the hill and away from the panicking cattle. Distantly, Jesse heard Reggie call for him, but he did not think of stopping. He needed to find his father, then they could worry about their cattle. Without Randall McCree, this trip would fall apart. They needed him to tell them what to do, because with all his worrying, he could figure out anything. Jesse needed his father._

_When he reached the top, he only adjusted his horse’s speed so she did not topple over as they descended the hill. Underneath him were moving shadows, louder gunshots, the screaming of man, horse, and cow. Seeing it triggered the fear within Jesse to finally well up in his chest. He reached level ground and the mare slowed to a trot, huffing massive breaths through her teeth. Jesse was breathing just as rapid, eyes searching the grasses._

_He had never seen so many bodies before. His stomach rolled at the sight; almost all of them were faces he had seen hours before, faces he had known for years. Ol’ Dan lay just yards away from him, now-grey eyes fixed on the sky above him. Near him was another boy, smaller than Jesse himself. Even with the face bloodied and broken, body obviously had been trampled, Jesse did not recognize him._

_Jesse did not allow himself to retch. Numbly, he looked over the men that lay dead around him and did not find his father._

_He kept running._

*~

 

“You’re supposed to be _dead._ ”

To an accusation as heavy and bold as that, McCree simply laughed. “Darlin’, there ain’t much on Earth that can kill me.”

Genji’s mind was a rush of disjointed possibilities and explanations. Nothing ever made _sense_ in this God forsaken country. He stared at the space between him and McCree, the latter waiting patiently for him to sort his thoughts.

 _El hombre de lobo,_ who was responsible for killing the man in front of him, _was_ the man in front of him. Briefly, Genji wondered if the Deadlocks were becoming more trouble than they were worth, but dismissed that thought as soon as it had come. While he would not put it passed the Sun Man to be some sort of murderous wolf monster, Genji could not ignore the expressions on Dave and Emilio’s faces when they recounted the tale of their lost friend. He felt their sorrow; it was almost palpable enough to feel as if it was his own. That was certainly no trick.

And Genji himself saw what happened at the Bloodied Fields. Whoever Jesse McCree was, the Deadlocks were no friends of his. Not anymore, at least.

He was wrong before, he had not solved the mystery of this man. He had gotten one answer, but with that answer surfaced a million other questions. If he was a Deadlock in the past, why kill them now? What had led him to fake his own death? Did he fake his own death, or had McCree survived an attack as Genji had?

In front of him, McCree removed the cigar from between his lips and flicked the ashes with a subconscious sigh full of blue-tinted smoke. When he noticed Genji staring, he replaced the cigar and raised his brow, expectant.

Waiting for Genji to figure it out, to catch up.

“Are there any others like you?” Was Genji’s first question.

McCree, looking happy to have the conversation revived, smiled something smug. “The one an’ only. Least ‘round these parts.”

The only wolf around. Perhaps he was not the miraculous survivor of a monster attack. McCree had just faked his death, and because the beast never let one of its victims escape, none would be able to suspect him. Genji also had to consider the likelihood that there might have been another beast, once upon a time. There was a possibility that these creatures do not form packs like their namesakes, that they are territorial even to each other.

Maybe there was not enough room in Santa Fe for the both of them.

“Dave and Emilio think you dead,” Genji stated.

McCree nodded. “’S pro’ly for the best.”

“Perhaps,” Genji agreed after a hum. “They were once your friends, and you keep yourself a secret from them. Does anyone know that you are alive?”

McCree looked around the alleyway, searching for something. Genji followed his gaze, not finding anything. The other man did not seem to have much luck either.

“Nah,” he answered eventually.

That did something to Genji; not quite shock but it made a form of empathy curl in his chest. Twenty years ago he had supposedly died, Emilio had said. For _twenty years_ Jesse McCree had lived life as a dead man. “It must be very lonely,” Genji thought out loud.

McCree’s head tilted again with an expression that Genji could not place immediately. “It ain’t so bad,” he said, his tone unsure.

“No, but it could be better.” When McCree’s head tilted in the other direction Genji elaborated. “You killed the only friend I had made here in America. And because you spared my life, no one but my brother will talk to me. They are _afraid_ of me.” He crossed his arms tightly over his chest with a laugh, because it _was_ funny in a way. That night, Genji felt like he could not have been more terrified. Surely, if anyone had seen him, no one would stare at him the way they do now: fearful, untrustworthy.

And if they did dare to speak to him, would he even want them to? These men, they were something like animals and he had _known_ it. Dave might be a profound storyteller, Genji might have enjoyed Emilio’s exaggerated eye rolls and dry humor, and Bull might have been the only thing Genji had looked forward to seeing each morning, but it did not change what they were. From the very beginning, he knew these men were Deadlocks, through and through. He thought himself a fool for even sitting down at that table when he arrived, to introduce himself and forget that some people are capable of being nothing but evil.

All too quickly, Genji realized he _detested_ the Americas. Never before had he experienced it, but what he felt at that moment had to be something akin to homesickness. Genji had never strayed out of Asia before; the furthest he travelled was the outskirts of Europe but he had never breeched the border. It was easier then. He knew that his home was miles away, yes, but with a dedicated horse and a compass, he knew Hanamura was not too far at all. But here, in America, separating him from his home –  his friends who had waved him off as the ship left the dock, familiar grasses, _his mother –_ was an ocean. An ocean, a war between men alike, and a werewolf.

Yes, Genji had seen _enough_ of America.

“Tell me why you have not killed me, Jesse McCree.” His voice was loud and firm, having obviously decided something McCree was not yet privy to.

So, he answered honestly. “Because it ain’t you I’m out to be killin’.”

“It is the Deadlocks.”

A pause, brow furrowed again. “Right.”

Genji sighed sadly, conveying that that was not what he wanted to hear, even if the answer was plain as day. “You are seeking to kill me, then, Jesse McCree. Unfortunately, the Deadlocks are a new investment my father has recently taken up. He takes very good care of his money, you will soon come to find out.”

“But?” McCree asked.

“ _But_ ,” Genji agreed, “the Deadlock investment will drop if he finds it is a waste of his beloved time and fortune.” He crossed his arms, looking up to the clouds to appear in thought. “If only there was a way for my father to see that they were not worth the trouble.”

McCree scoffed. “If yer pa ain’t takin’ the hint when the bastards are showin’ up dead at the door, then maybe he ain’t got the sense to see.”

“He is a stubborn man, but he is no fool,” Genji snapped back quickly. “He believes you do not exist, perhaps, but would you so easily believe the tale of a magic wolf man hunting down the local gangs?”

The other does not react to the change of tone, that lighthearted smile still on his face. Genji wanted to claw it off. “If the guy’s so stubborn, he ain’t gonna drop the Deadlocks when the goin’ gets rough, is he?”

Kenshin Shimada, stubborn and spiteful, did not talk often. He was a secretive man, and preferred to watch others carefully rather than be the center of attention. As mysterious as he was, few could safely say they knew him well, but the safest to say so were his two sons and certainly not one Jesse McCree. Genji grinned from ear to ear, sharp as glass. “I suppose you will just have to trust me.”

McCree huffed at that, a plume of smoke pouring from the corner of his mouth. “How can I? Yer a real family man, Shimada. You expect me to believe you want to help me mess with yer pa’s business?”

“I do not want to help you ‘ _mess_ ’ with the business, I want to help you destroy it,” Genji replied, matter-of-fact. “Without an organization as powerful and influential as the Deadlocks, my father will have no reason to be here. We will be forced to leave the Americas; another gang dead to name, out of your city.”

While he did laugh at the mention of the Deadlocks being an ‘organization’, McCree appeared to think about the Shimada son’s words. “Seem pretty eager t’leave, don’t ya?”

Like it so often did, the Bloodied Fields crossed his thoughts again. How long will it be until Bull’s screams start sounding like Hanzo’s? How long will they survive here before it is his father that falls, or even his Uncle? He shook his head, mildly disgusted that these nightmarish daydreams were even a possibility now.

McCree was still waiting for an answer, so Genji swallowed and gave him one. “Since I stepped foot in this country, the only thing I have come to know is betrayal of my own trust and the death of someone who I thought to be a friend. I have seen enough of America to last several lifetimes. I miss my bed, I miss my mother, and I would very much like to go home.”

McCree nodded, considering. “Fair ‘nough, I guess.” Genji’s expression brightened, and the older man held up a hand. “Hey, now, I haven’t agreed to nothin’ yet. You talk real pretty, Shimada, but that don’t mean I trust you.”

“If you did that easily, _I_ would put an end to the deal.” Fortunately enough for Genji, Jesse McCree was no fool. “You obviously have no need for my sword.” He looked McCree up and down, but both knew he was regarding the wolf rather than the man. “Perhaps a different kind of power I possess will be of use?” McCree cocked his head again, _go on_. “I will get you knowledge. Anything that goes on between the Deadlocks and my father, whispers of it will come to you.”

“I can do that on my own, and I _have_ been doin’ it on my own.”

Genji frowned with the narrowing of his eyes. “Then you will have no worries about misinformation. You will know if I am lying or not. Even still, one man cannot know everything. I have seen you, outside of the inn. Almost in every _bodega_ the Deadlocks frequent, but what of my father, who owns them? How well have you been tracking him?”

For the first time, McCree’s smile slipped from his face. He bristled, and Genji knew he had him. “Even a man like me can’t be in two places at once,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“Then it is a good thing you will have me,” Genji remarked happily. When McCree did not appear convinced, he sighed. “You have trusted me enough to keep me alive thus far,” he reminded him softly. “Why not trust me with this?”

“I said I haven’t _decided_ on if I’m killin’ you or not yet,” McCree grumbled, looking torn.

“But for now?”

“ _For now_ ,” he paused, hesitating. “For now, I reckon we could make something work.” Just barely, Genji refrained from hissing out a quiet cheer. He could not stop the shining, excited smile that overcame him, however, and it left McCree regarding him with the unknown look once again. “How you fixin’ on gettin’ this information anyhow? Doubtin’ people ain’t just gonna spill their guts too easy, even if you are the boss’ kid.”

A long-suffering sigh left the younger with the slump of his shoulders. “My father always did want me to find time for the family.”

“That must be tearin’ you up inside,” McCree joked.

Genji hummed in agreement despite the mockery. “There is also Dave and Emilio. They are quite fond of me.”

The mention of his old friends soured McCree’s expression. “Hangin’ out with fellas like them almost got you and a farmer killed.”

“I am not so fond of the idea of Deadlock company either,” Genji assured. “But they are good for finding the best saloons. Men talk when they are drunk.”

“They sure do.” He bit his lip after he said it, like _now_ he was afraid of Genji seeing his condescending smile.

He glared up at the man. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The answer came too quickly to be innocent. “Nothin’.”

Genji scowled. “If you are referring to last night, do not anymore. Anything I said should not be held against me.” McCree laughed again, the same laugh that made Genji feel like his entire being was a joke. He was going to do more than claw the smirk off his face, now, that has been decided. “Is there anything specific you would like to know about?” He asked, hoping that he did not appear too desperate for a change of topic.

McCree was kind enough to drop it, but still looked far too pleased with himself. “Things’ve been real quiet lately, which means they’re pro’ly planning somthin’ big.”

“Something bigger than executing a farmer on his own land?”

“Yeah,” he answered simply. “They’ve got eyes on the trail comin’ into Santa Fe; Deadlocks know about bank transports ‘fore the city even does. One must be comin’ ‘long down the road.”

A heist, then. Countless times had Genji had to sit through one of Dave’s retellings of the best robberies in his day. He spoke of trains and bars of gold, but any information Genji retained was that the Deadlocks were renowned for that behavior, and a portion of the money they stole in the process was what bought out any authority that decided to look into it. It seemed too good to be true, but Genji was not surprised something so rotten went by without trouble in the Americas.

“Perhaps, but also we must consider that they do not have much use for theft, not when my father’s money is backing them.”

McCree contemplated on that for a moment. “Don’t think we can say for sure, can we? I’m still lookin’ into it.”

“ _We_ are looking into it,” Genji reminded him.

Holding his hands up in mock defense, McCree corrected himself. “ _We_.” His arms dropped back to his sides, and with a twitch his serape was sitting comfortably back over his shoulders. He was still smiling when he made a show of heaving a weary sigh and shifting toward the exit of the alley, getting ready. He was finished with their conversation, and it was easy to tell. “Glad we got to hash this out, but I ain’t gonna keep you any longer,” McCree decided after allowing a stretch of silence to pass. “Yer pa’s gonna notice you missin’.”

Genji looked up to what little he could see of the sky in between the two buildings. The sun had shifted to the other side of the city, not yet setting. The shadows had grown longer and larger, though; its descent was near.

“Very well.”

McCree tipped his hat and turned his back after telling Genji, “Have a lovely evenin’, Mister Shimada.”

McCree was nearly swallowed into the bustle of the street when Genji called him to a stop. “When do you plan to meet again?”

The man tipped up one shoulder in a shrug, turning his head enough so Genji could hear his response over the noise in the road. “I’ll find you.”

He was gone after that. Genji had not planned on questioning further anyway, he had gotten what he wanted. It might not have been in the way he intended, but if years of being caught doing something a Shimada should not be doing taught him anything, it was how to improvise. It was only a step –  the first of many, many more – and when him and McCree reached the end, the Deadlocks will be dead behind them and his family will be safe.

Jesse McCree was his dedicated horse, was his compass, was his ship set to sail across an ocean, was the knife in the Deadlocks’ back.

Jesse McCree was his way back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back to the shit show, my dudes.
> 
> Internet has finally been bestowed to me, so I can finally throw this into the pile. Wanted to get it out as soon as possible, because Mcgenji Secret Santa is a thing, and I'm stoked. Gonna work on that quite a bit, so this isn't gonna be updated again until after Christmas most likely.
> 
> Shout out to the folks who are putting up with the sporadic and slow updates! You keep doin' you.
> 
> Like always, yell at me if I haven't tagged anything you would like to see tagged, yell at me if there's issues with the formatting, and yell at me if there's spelling mistakes. Or you can just yell, I'll listen with rapt attention.
> 
> sMELL yA!!!!1111!!!

**Author's Note:**

> So, only speak English, and I don't even do that well. If there is anything wrong with the two lines of Spanish I attempted, I would gladly have it be pointed out to me and fixed.
> 
> Find me at [my tumblr](http://gearyoak.tumblr.com/), where I shitpost about mcgenji and meme about Overwatch!


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